


Scarlet, Vermillion and Coral

by Liliriu



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works, The Thing on the Doorstep - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Loneliness, M/M, Romance, gory pillow talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liliriu/pseuds/Liliriu
Summary: Well I felt sorry for the cherubic horror poet, who had had such a shitty life, so I decided to fabricate him a lover that would be nice to him. You know, one who would treat him as an equal, not make fun of his mustache, not steal his body to go shoggoth watching, actually listen to him…And of course, it could not last.Warnings: mentions of sex, gory pillow talk (just talk), alcoholism, also probably the most upsetting thing I've ever written.
Relationships: edward pickman derby/original male character
Kudos: 4





	Scarlet, Vermillion and Coral

From the beginning, Edward is interested in the group of rebellious artists and intellectuals who frequent the university campus; but having been a sheltered child, and still bond, as a grown man, to his mother’s skirt, he is too shy to approach them. Dan advises him to stay away, claiming that they are not at his level and mocking everything they do or say. Since Edward does not know anyone more intelligent than his friend, he listens and tries to, as always, be content with his own company. Not that it is a dull company, as he is gifted with a rich, fertile imagination, especially when nourished by pain.

So as his loneliness grows, so does his artistry, which turns more wonderful and grotesque, and he writes many morbidly beautiful poems, which inside his mind shine in colors such as scarlet, vermilion and coral. He tells himself that the pain is worth it, that it is the necessary sacrifice to create this magic, to be as a human god; that happiness fades, yet art lives forever, and therefore it is a better investment of his time on earth. Ironically, he does become quite successful, and once he has reached enough fame – that is after his mom has passed away – they are the ones who end up coming to him.

For the first time in his life, Edward has friends his same age; for the first time in his life, he knows fun. He allows himself to ignore his father’s and Daniel’s frowns, and to be almost happy. Almost, since, he thinks, it is probably impossible to be completely happy after suffering as much as he has. He does know that this is not completely true, he has not actually suffered that much; having been the spoiled, pampered child that he was, it would be a ridiculous claim that he has suffered that much. In reality, his personal cross is the emptiness which has filled his forming days; in other words, the sheer absence of joy. So when, too late, joy finally arrives, it is virtually impossible for him to have faith in it, which does not mean that he is unwilling to try.

As he soon enough finds out, the easiest way to force the self to trust what it knows that it should not, is via good, old, chemical alteration of the brain. So he drinks, and he smokes, and drinks some more. Thus, he can manage to impose upon himself, at least during those evenings which he spends in the company of his new friends, to believe that happiness will last; never mind how miserable he feels the rest of the time.

And then one time, Edward drinks too much. Afterwards, he cannot recall much of that evening, besides taking part in a big gathering at the house of one of his friends. Apart from their usual circle, there was an unusual number of strangers at the place, which had caused him to feel especially shy. He had embraced the bottle as if only it could protect him, there had been the familiar, bitter taste of the drink down the throat, and… When he wakes up, he is wrapped in the dark, strong arms of another man.

Probably someone more decent than Edward, with more self-respect, would had been seriously upset at the discovery; but the truth is that, despite his pounding headache, Edward’s most prominent feeling is an unprecedented serenity, closely followed by a pleasant expectation to find out the identity of his companion.

Those feelings do not leave Edward as he heads back home – they rather intensify – and he finds himself compelled to make an active effort in order to hide a smile which could had caused suspicion. He and his new friend had spent together a cheerful morning together, wiping out their headaches with breakfast and engaging in pleasurable conversation, and doing other pleasurable deeds. The man had claimed to be an admirer of his art, a statement which Edward had initially taken for nonsense; but the other did turn out to be acquainted with his verses, which could either mean that he was speaking truth, or that he had managed to quickly gather the information after having caught sight of him once. One way or another, it had flattered his vanity, and he had found himself agreeing to meet once again.

***

Undoubtedly, Edward’s mistake is to become trustful; not of his lover, but of the possibility of happiness. He forgets his suspicion, and is not any longer compelled to drink. Nevertheless, he does drink, yet now it is done less to conceal the pain, and more to enhance the joy. They drink as the solid dark body covers with hot caresses the soft fair one, and the romance advances, growing intense and bizarre:

“My dirtiest hustler,” he tells Edward once, gently running bronze fingers through the transparent neck, “you have no idea what am I planning for you.”

“What are you planning?” Edward delivers his line.

“For starters,” he lowers his voice, “to peel your eyes out of their sockets…” he gives a chaste kiss on each of Edward’s eyes, then says in a husky, sensual tone, “and while you are blinded and bleeding, I will run away, and throw them to the dark waves of the sea…”

“Tell me more…” purrs Edward.

“Many years after, a diver will mistake your eyes for giant pearls, and they will hang from the necks and earlobes of high-born dames…”[1]

Edward giggles, breaking the spell. “Someone has been going through my poems!” he says.

“Plead guilty,” he shrugs, “and I just found this wonderful reprint of Reanimator.”

Edward bursts with laughter, “Reanimator… Really! And I had thought you to be a cultured man…”

“But I am! I do believe this piece to be underappreciated…” he gives his friend a crooked smile, “it is autobiographical, am I right?”

That manages to confuse Edward, for a moment, “what?!” he asks.

“Herbert… West…” The man whispers to the perfect ear, savoring the name. “Blue eyed, golden haired, angel faced prowess…” he is slowly brushing the soft cheeks as he goes on, “the body of an angel…” now caressing Edward’s stomach and chest, “containing the rotten soul of a vile… murderer.” His hands are on Edward’s cock now, which is quickly turning hard.

“Yes…!” he gasps, “yes… it is me…”

***

They have many such conversations, and also many other types of conversations. In particular, Edward conducts many monologues, while his friend lies in silence. For the first time in his life, he has found someone whom he can share all his pain with, and who will just listen; not judge, not lecture, no give unrequested advice. Just – listen; perhaps embracing him with dark muscled arms, perhaps wrapping his own fingers in sunshine hair, yet never attempting to fix him.

He laughs happily, the one time in which Edward utters this particular thought, “fix you? But you are so close to perfect!”

“Oh? And were lies the imperfection? Am I not corrupt enough for your decadent tastes?”

That seems to make him very happy, because he laughs even harder, catches his friend’s face, and deeply kisses his mouth before going on. “Your only imperfection,” he says, “is that you are not yet aware of just how corrupt you already are. But soon enough you will find out, and rest assured that you will be the one corrupting me then…”

That is easily the best compliment that Edward has gotten to the date. “Perhaps I could start now…” he proposes.

***

Is that normal behavior for lovers? Never attempting to manipulate or lecture each other, never belittling, never uttering cliches, compliments given only in their own idiosyncratic style. Edward really has no idea whether all this is normal or not, since he had never had a lover before. Perhaps their affair is indeed becoming too strange. But Edward is a strange man, and this is perfect for him; this is exactly how he had always dreamed it to be.

His friend tells him that he is beautiful, all the time, and it is not that Edward is not used to hearing that; he is beautiful, after all, as Dan and his father often remind him, and his mother used to as well. But before meeting him, Edward had always thought it to be a reason for shame, as from the others’ mouths, the compliments had always come with a sting; forever accompanied by some seemingly innocent comment about how fat he was getting, or how lazy he was, or how much he resembled a doll or a child. It was exactly the same when they praised his intelligence; never failing to add some so-called humorous note about his inability to drive, or socialize, or generally function like a grown man.

But he never says those things; never calls him weak or flabby or immature, not even in jest. He does have his own teasing remarks, but those usually regard blood baths, or murdering him to make a beautiful mummy out of his corpse, and all the other things which would had caused his mom to die again; yet they fill Edward with glee, and turn him on like crazy, of course. So they lie side by side, and make love, and talk. He holds Edward tight as he sleeps, forcing himself to stay awake, just in order to keep gazing at the exquisite creature, playing with amber hair. And Edward does not write verses anymore, for now he finally understands: they were never meant to be let die within dry paper; but to be murmured by humid lips into lovers’ ears, to the delirious music of hearts pumping hot blood.

And when they are not making love, they go outside, and they drink, and they smoke, and drink some more. And then one time, they drink too much. And now everybody knows about the affair, and the extortioners hold them in their grips. He has no money of his own, and neither does his friend; he cannot help. They were right all along, understands Edward, he had to be so childish and idiotic to get himself into this mess. Now he must repent, there is no choice. He will swallow his pride, and he will go to the only one who will understand, the only one who he can really trust, the only one who will always be there for him. He will go, and he will suffer the sermon, and eventually it will all bygone.

***

He almost bursts into bitter laughter, as he hears the sequence of words, which he had been preparing himself for the whole day:

“But you must promise me, Edward, that you will never see him again.”

[1] I have probably plagiarized this, but I have no idea where from…

Update: found it!

> Full fathom five thy father lies;  
> Of his bones are coral made;  
> Those are pearls that were his eyes:  
> Nothing of him that doth fade  
> But doth suffer a sea-change  
> Into something rich and strange.  
> Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell
> 
> –The Tempest, William Shakespeare


End file.
